Dead and Alive.

This Ditty out of Gloucestershire was sent, To London, for to have it put in Print; Therefore draw near, and listen unto this, It doth concern a Man that did Amiss; And so to shun the Anger of his Wife, He thought with Poyson for to end his Life, But instead of Poyson he drank Sack, For which his Wife did soundly pay's back—

[114.]There was a shaving Royster, as I heard many tell, In Michal-Danes fair forest, in Gloucestershire did dwell; Some call'd him William Wiseman, but in that they were to blame, Some call'd him Leonard Lackwit, but that was not his name; His name was Simple Simon, as it is well approv'd, And among his Friends and Kinsfolks, he dearly was belov'd: He capor'd and he vapour'd and he liv'd a merry life, But yet, good Man, at all times, he could not rule his Wife.

His Wife she was a Woman, that lov'd a cup of Sack, And she would tipple soundly, behind her Husband's back; A bottle she had gotten that would hold two quarts or more, Well fill'd with wine she hang'd it behind her chamber door: And she told unto her Husband that it was poyson strong, And bad him not to touch it, for fear of doing wrong: If thou drink but one drop on't, (quoth she) 'twill end thy life; Therefore in time take heed, and be ruled by thy Wife. This Simon's wife had plenty of fatting hogs and pigs, With geese, ducks, hens, and turkies, that laid great store of eggs: Both Sheep and such like cattel, fine ews and pritty lambs, Which up and down the forrest did feed, and suck their dams; She put trust to her Husband to look unto them all, To keep them safe from danger; now mark what did befal: He did his best endeavour to shun all sorts of strife, And yet through strange misfortune he could not please his Wife. One morning she sent him to field to keep her sheep, And charg'd him to be watchful, and take heed he did not sleep: A piece of bread and butter she gave him in his hand, Whereby she made him promise to do as she did command. But see what happened to him, when he came to the field, He fell asleep, while foxes three of his lambs had killed: This bred a great dissention and rais'd a world of strife, Till Simon for his fault had beg'd pardon of his Wife. Another day she sent him her ducks and geese to tend, And charg'd him on her blessing, he should no more offend: Her goslins and her chickens with him she put in trust, Who took a stick and told them, for they were twenty just: But a woful chance befel to poor Simon before night, For seven of his chickens were took prisoners by the kite: This vexed him, and it made him half weary of his life, For he knew not what answer to make unto his Wife. Next morning when that Simon was sent to milk the cow, Another strange mishap there was done to him by the sow; For whilst that he was driving the little pigs away, The sow came into the dairy-house and swill'd up all the whey; The cheese out of the cheese fat she did both tear and hawl, And so threw down the cream-pot, and made an end of all: Wherewith she burst her belly, and so she lost her life, And poor Simon knew not what answer to make unto his wife. When's Wife came in the dairy-house, and saw what there was done, A strong and fierce encounter she presently begun; She pull'd him by the ears, and she wrung him by the nose, And she kickt him on the belly, while the tears ran down his hose. And she vow'd to be revenged before the morrow day, For all the brood of chickens, which the kite had carried away: Poor Simon stood amazed, being weary of his life, For he good Man was tired with his unruly Wife. For when that he perceived his Wife in such a rage, Nor knowing how, nor which way his fury to asswage: He cunningly got from her, and to the chamber went, Thinking himself to poyson, for that was his intent; So coming to the bottle, which I spoke of before, He thought it to be poyson, which hung behind the door: He vow'd to drink it all up, and end his wretched life, Rather than live in thraldom, with such a cursed Wife. So opening of a window, which stood towards the South, He took the bottle of sack, and set it to his mouth: Now will I drink this poyson, (quoth he) with all my heart; So that the first draught he drunk on't he swallowed near a quart: The second time that he set the bottle to his snout, He never left off swigging, till he had suckt all out: Which done, he fell down backward like one bereft of life, Crying out, I now am poysoned by means of my cursed Wife. Quoth he, I feel the poyson now run through every vein, It rumbles in my belly, and it tickles in my brain; It wambles in my stomack, and it molifies my heart, It pierceth through my members, and yet I feel no smart; Would all that have curst wives, example take hereby, For I dye as sweet a death sure, as ever man did dye: 'Tis better with such poyson, to end a wretched life, Than to live, and be tormented with such a wicked Wife. Now see what followed after, his Wife by chance did walk, And coming by the window, she heard her Simon talk; And thinking on her bottle, she up the stairs did run, And came into the chamber, to see what he had done; When as she saw her Husband, lying drunk upon his back, And the bottle lying by him, but never a drop of sack: I am poyson'd, I am poyson'd, quoth he, long of my Wife, I hope I shall be at quiet now I have lost my life. Pox take you, are you poyson'd, (quoth she) I now will strive, And do my best endeavour to make you run alive: With that a quill of powder she blew up in his nose, Then like a man turn'd antick, he presently arose; So down the stairs he run straight, into the open street, With hooping and hollowing, to all that he did meet; And with a loud voice cryed out, I am raised from death to life, By virtue of a powder, that was given me by my Wife. Some folks that did behold him, were in a grievous fear, For seeing of a Madman, they durst not him come near: He leaped and he skipped, thorow fair and thorow foul, Whilst the people gaz'd upon him like pyce upon an owl: His Wife she followed after, thorow thick, and thorow thin, And with a basting cudgel she soundly bang'd his skin: And thus poor Simon cryed out I'm raised from death to life, By virtue of a powder, that was given me by my Wife. At last a friend of Simon's which was to him some kin, By fair and kind persuasions, open'd door and let him in; He sent for Simon's Wife, and so made them both good friends, Who kindly kist each other, and so all discord ends; The Neighbours all rejoyced to see them thus agreed, And like a loving couple to bed they went with speed. No doubt but Simple Simon that night well pleas'd his wife, For ever since that time, he hath lived a quiet life.

For the price of a Barrel of Beere I have bought a groats worth of wit, Is not that deare?